


Complementary

by ElvenSorceress



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, OT3, Platonic Soulmates, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSorceress/pseuds/ElvenSorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a swirl of green appeared on his left wrist, he stared at it and couldn’t breathe. It looked like script but not words he knew. They crossed the veins in his skin, and he traced the lines and memorized the shapes and pattern. But how could he know who bore a matching tattoo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complementary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Farasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/gifts).



> Happy fluffy birthday fic written for my dear Farasha. <3
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: There's some icky discriminatory things in the beginning but they are wrong and always have been wrong. It's simply to build a world like ours -__-

It was a priest who first told James of soulmates through the story of Adam and Eve. God had made them for each other and so blessed them with identical marks on their wrists so they would always be reminded of their bond. If a man and a woman bore identical symbols, it meant God had destined them for marriage. If two men or two women had matching marks, it meant they were to be lifelong friends. 

Unless these marks occurred between family members. Or between people from different countries or backgrounds. Or a woman who couldn’t bear children and a man who couldn’t give her children. Or between people with different skin colors. Or between someone wealthy and someone poor. Or someone unhealthy and someone able-bodied. Or between someone diseased of the mind or body and someone pure and clean. 

James had been no more than than five years old and the whole concept was utterly confusing, but he didn’t want the priest to think he was being contrary, so he nodded and agreed that of course he understood. 

When he asked his father why there were so many qualifications on something that God apparently intended when, in theory, God was said to not make mistakes, he was told he was causing trouble and to never speak of it again. 

He hadn’t meant to cause trouble; he simply didn’t understand. 

When he was a few years older, the woman who taught him how to read and write showed him her wrists. Her left one had a yellow burst that almost could have been a flower; her right wrist had angular green lines and blocky shapes. And she told him how her husband had a violet flower burst on his left wrist and her sister had green lines and blocks on her right. 

Color and placement were important, she told him, and people liked to make up stories so that they could put restrictions on love because they didn’t want certain kinds of love to exist. But if these soulmate markings were a gift from God, then they were above human laws. Love was and would always be more powerful. If and when James met someone and was blessed with a soulmate tattoo, he would understand then. 

James wasn’t sure he wanted to be faced with such a thing. When soulmates appeared in stories and books, they faced horrific obstacles in order to be together. Or they married and had children and lived in houses far away from the sea. Or one perished and the other suffered without them and had to endure the pain of their tattoo fading if it didn’t kill them first. No matter how lovely and wonderful it was supposed to be finding one’s soulmate, there was nothing that sounded particularly appealing to him. 

At the age of thirteen, James was serving on a ship and met two sailors who had the same mark on the same wrist. They told him they had been friends since childhood and it meant they would be friends until they were buried. But the colors of their tattoos didn’t match, even though the symbols were the same. One man had orange, the other’s was blue. And James swore he saw them kiss each other the way lovers did. But such a thing wasn’t possible. Was it? How could it be? He'd always been told love of that nature only existed between a man and a woman. Nothing else was possible and anyone who claimed to feel otherwise was diseased or possessed by the Devil. The men disappeared before long, banished from the ship or claimed by the sea, and he never got to ask. 

James found scientific texts that wrote of the occurrence of “soulmate” markings and attempted to explain and clarify aspects of it. It seemed those who could be lovers bore markings with opposite colors while familial and platonic pairs had markings of the same color. But such theories were wildly disputed by higher authorities. There was seemingly no limit to the number of “tattoos” that a person could have and they always appeared after two people had met, but they were not as permanent or irrefutable as most people claimed. There were cases where colors changed or faded into nothing. Death always erased markings as if they were tied to whatever resided inside someone and made them living. Hence why they were deemed connected to a person’s soul. 

It sounded like a more complete explanation than the ones he’d received as a child, but it didn’t answer why or how such markings occurred, if a person was given a choice in the matter, what happened to those people who suffered losses, or how someone went about finding people who could be matches. Did everyone have at least one match? What happened if you encountered a vast number of people all at once and then never saw your person again? Could you find each other again? What did such a thing feel like? Why were so many people fixated with the idea of knowing you were meant to love someone in whatever capacity? Was it because they were lonely, too? 

He listened to stories and read both fictional and factual accounts, but James had always been alone in a sea of people. If anyone got too close to him, they might discover thoughts he had, desires he had, or the ways he attempted to relieve the ache of longing and loneliness. 

No matter what was written in books, no matter what could be written on someone’s skin, he knew that if he ever found a man he held affection for, he would have to hide it. Even from the man who might have a mark that matched his. 

When a swirl of green appeared on his left wrist, he stared at it and couldn’t breathe. It looked like script but not words he knew, possibly not words at all but it crossed the veins in his skin, and he traced the lines and memorized the shapes and pattern. But how could he know who bore a matching tattoo? 

He could guess but he could never bring up such a thing. If he was correct in his assumption, the man was married, and any feelings James might have for him could never be returned. Most likely, they were meant to be the closest of friends, which wasn’t a disappointment in the least. Just the knowledge that he wasn’t meant to be alone forever was more than he ever thought he would have. 

But why did he have such thoughts about a happily married man? One who was only meant to be his friend? Why did he dream of being wrapped in Thomas’ arms and kissed by him? Why did he think of lying with him, of touching him, making love with him? 

James was simply too taken with his words and mind and idealism, and the way Thomas smiled and listened when James had something to say. The way he wanted James to voice his opinions and not worry about what anyone thought. The way he himself was so fearless and dedicated no matter what anyone said about him. Thomas was extraordinary. It was perfectly reasonable to love and adore him, and it wasn’t as if James would ever cross boundaries set by proper society. 

He admired when others could however. Miranda was just as fiercely bright and kind as her husband, and he envied her ability to do whatever made her happy without worrying about what others would say. If he could be more like anyone, he would hope to be more like her. She was as joyous as sunshine, and endlessly patient even when facing the most horrible words from others. 

It made him angry, and a well of dark rage would spill out of him in defense of her and of Thomas. They were the only people who had ever made him feel as if he was more than what he was. To them, he wasn’t a plebeian wretch, he wasn’t a lowly cabin boy or the simple, uneducated son of a carpenter. He wasn’t disgusting or deviant or someone to be ignored, used, cast aside. They treated him as if he mattered. They included him and cared for him even though he was technically beneath them. It seemed as if they loved him despite everything he was, perhaps because of everything he was. 

It took him close to a year before he got a decent look at the tattoo on Miranda’s wrist. It was a warm, violet magenta in a swirling script that looked so much like his own. Was Miranda his soulmate? Was that even possible? Out of any woman he’d ever met, he cared for her the most. He tried not to look at her tattoo and was too nervous to ask, but she noticed his interest and held out her right wrist to let him inspect it. 

The colors weren’t the same and weren’t opposite. The pattern was different from his as well. Something sank inside him. It was close but not close enough. Fortune would never grant him lifelong love and friendship with someone so much better than he was. 

She smiled warmly and told him that Thomas had a tattoo that matched hers. 

Of course it would be her husband. James knew how much they cared for each other. He’d seen how happy they were together. “You’re lucky,” he told her though it sounded as if there was too much sadness in his voice. He attempted to correct that. “To have found someone you love so dearly.”

“I agree,” she said and rested her hand on his cheek. “But this sort of love,” she gestured with her wrist. “Is not the only kind of love that exists.”

He wanted to lean into the gentle warmth of her touch or to cover her hand with his own, just to keep that affection for a little longer, but he could never be so forward. He didn’t want to give her or anyone else the wrong idea about what he longed for because it had nothing to do with sexual desires. 

“I know,” he said. Not that he had much experience in any sort of love. He wasn’t sure if he could say there had been anyone in his life who loved him. Admiral Hennessy was perhaps the closest person he had, but James wouldn’t call that love. A fatherly sort of pride maybe, and only on the best occasions. “But finding any sort of love is not an easy task.”

Her expression turned heartbreaking and she moved to embrace him. “I am always here, darling. Thomas as well. Please remember that.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do, but he returned the hug as much as he should. Though not as much as he wanted to. He couldn’t bear the thought of breaking Thomas’ heart let alone betraying him. 

Miranda lifted her head from his shoulder. “I take it by your reaction that you don’t have a soulmate mark?”

He sighed because a silly mark didn’t mean anything without the emotion and connection behind it. “I have one. But don’t know who has one that matches or where they are.” He offered his wrist to her so that she could study it as he had done with hers.

She gasped and clutched his wrist close to her face, looking it over. Tears welled in her eyes and terror ran through him until she smiled and hugged him again even more tightly. “Oh, James. My sweet James.” She held his face in both hands, grinning brighter than he’d ever seen her. “I don’t want to tell you anything but this — I love you so very much.” She kissed his cheek and then left him alone and without any idea of what had just happened. 

Maybe she recognized his tattoo because she’d seen it before. It was possible, but he couldn’t dare hope. 

When he went to the Hamiltons’ the following day, Thomas preempted any talk of politics. “I know this isn’t something we typically discuss.” He smiled gently and rolled up the sleeve covering his right arm. “But have I ever shown you my tattoos?”

James swallowed and shook his head. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t hope for anything. But his heart beat too quickly and his breath was short and not as unconscious as it should be. 

“When our marriage was arranged, my wife and I were fortunate enough to discover that we were very compatible.” Thomas offered his right wrist that bore a swirl of magenta violet like Miranda’s.

James stared at the mark and couldn’t understand. Everything he’d been told, everything he’d read, everything he’d seen about soulmate marks suggested identical colors meant familial love and bonds of friendship. They were husband and wife. 

Of course there was nothing that said they couldn’t love each other as a friend or family. Perhaps after being married the color changed because they were family now. But that didn't explain the other married couples he'd known about who always had opposite colors. Maybe everything he knew was wrong.

“I love Miranda with all my heart, and we’ve been so happy that I never considered I might need anything else.” Thomas rolled up the sleeve on his other arm and seemed more solemn this time. He held his wrist to his chest for a moment before extending his arm and letting James see. “But… something changed. When I met you.”

The mark on Thomas’ left wrist was a vibrant swirl of mythical script, exactly like the one James had, but crimson red. 

James’ hand shook as he reached out. It couldn’t be real. It meant things that could never happen. His fingers brushed Thomas’ wrist and he traced the lines he knew so well from his own skin. 

Thomas stepped closer to him and James ached from needing his warmth. It was like being away from home for far too long. As if he belonged nowhere but here. James shrugged off his coat and hesitantly offered his own wrist.

Thomas cradled it and ran his thumb over the green, leaving James’ skin tingling. “I would never presume your answer simply because we bear the same mark,” Thomas said, voice soft and near James’ ear. “But I knew my feelings for you even before Miranda told me of your tattoo.”

James looked up at him, lost in the depth of his eyes. “You feel something for me?”

Thomas rested his hand on James’ shoulder, leaning in closer. “I believe I was meant to love you. I felt it even before I knew.” With the lightest, barest touch, his fingers skimmed across James’ jaw. “If you would prefer I didn’t, please tell me now.”

James reached out and gently held onto Thomas’ back, still worried that he might be pushed away. “If I could choose anyone, it would be you. I want you to love me. I want anything you would give me.”

A smile washed over Thomas’ face as if all the weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He drew James to him and kissed him, a soft, sweet press of their lips until James was overcome with joy. He held on tightly to Thomas as if he’d been made for only this, and swore to never let go.


End file.
